


I'll tell you when you're older

by NoiraKai



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Angst, Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Cheating, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Rough Sex, individual chapters will be tagged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1311178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoiraKai/pseuds/NoiraKai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abel must grapple with his feelings when he begins a secret affair with Bering behind Cain's back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yep, this fic contains Daddy Kink, but has a lot more to it than that. All characters are their canon ages. Be ye warned.

“Princess...”

The voice pulls him into the limbo between sleep and consciousness; the soundscape of his dream morphs into the resonant thumping in Cain's chest. But it feels like he's floating, suspended in time in a way that doesn't make sense, so it wakes him up more just trying to understand.

“Abel, sweetheart, wake up...” Cain says softly, and brushes Abel's hair out of his eyes, tracing his fingers behind his ear and down his neck, to squeeze at his shoulder.

“Mmmh...” Abel complains, shifting so he can bury himself more into Cain's chest, lose himself in this feeling of being safe and warm and weightless and asleep.

“Abel.” The voice wavers between becoming more insistent and giving up completely. Wavers between Cain and not-Cain, something off in it that makes Abel open his eyes.

It takes him a moment to remember where he is, but when he does, it finally jolts him awake, and he looks up, as a forgotten breath rushes into his nose. He's not in his own quarters, but in the larger suite of a Commander... sprawled across the older man's lap, on a sofa that divides the space into a living area and a sleeping area. He's dressed in nothing but a pair of cotton shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Bering looks down at him, showing just a glint of teeth in his gentle smile.

 _“Oh I fell asleep!”_ Abel whispers frantically, though he's already fighting back a yawn in the back of his throat. “I'm _so_ sorry--”

“It's alright,” Bering says with a quiet chuckle. “I know you've been working long hours in the lab.”

Abel stretches out his arms and pops some stiff joints, as his brows stitch together with worry. “I wish you’d have woken me. I didn't mean to--”

“It's fine,” the Commander insists, and reaches down to massage Abel's bare knee with his thumb. It awakens something inside him, something that makes his eyes wander down Bering's body. Something that makes him want to stay.

The older man frowns, pulling his arm from under Abel's lazy weight to check his watch. He frowns even more. “It's almost 23:30.”

 _“Shit,”_ Abel swears, wincing apologetically.

“You should probably head back to your quarters,” the Commander says with a shrug.

Abel looks away, eyes downcast towards the hand on his knee. “Oh. Alright...” He knows Bering is right, if he goes back too late it might arouse suspicion... but he can't help but feel like he’s being dismissed as a disappointment.

A gentle hand takes him by the chin and makes him meet Bering's eyes. “Hey. There will be time for that. Okay?” the older man says. “We don't have to be in any hurry,” he reassures, with a pleading look in his dark eyes that convinces Abel it's true. Even if there is a nagging reminder in the back of his mind, that Bering expects a bit more than cuddling –- and some drool on the jacket of his uniform, Abel realizes, eyes going wide –- out of this arrangement of theirs.

“Okay,” he says anyway, conceding with a tiny nod.

Bering shifts away so both of them can stand. “Let me help you with your things.”

“Oh, it's okay, I can--”

“Abel.” The Commander raises an eyebrow as he puts his hands on Abel's shoulders. “I want to.”

Abel nods in understanding, and follows him over to the closet by the door. Bering drags out Abel's boots and sets them in front of him, and then hands him the light grey trousers of his uniform. Abel slips the legs on and then Bering steps forward, hands caressing Abel's waist for just a moment before sliding down. Abel's skin goes hot as he watches the older man zip up his fly, and fasten the small metal hooks for him. It has exactly the effect Bering wants it to have, Abel muses to himself, making him wish they were doing this in the reverse, making him leave hot and wanting and flustered, so he'll hurry back to finish what they started, what their last few meetings have been working up to.

Abel bends down to put his boots on and tuck his trousers inside, and then Bering offers his jacket, guiding Abel's arms into the sleeves and then straightening it out, before slowly zipping it closed. Eyes intense and focused on his task, they twinkle when Bering looks up and catches Abel gawking at him. Abel swallows hard and feels his face turn a shade warmer, barely remembering to breathe. Bering hands him the last piece of his ensemble, a glass tablet which Abel tucks under his arm.

“I'll be in touch,” Bering whispers, as if they were parting company in the treacherous dark of night where they might be overheard. “As soon as I have a free evening, we can meet and try again. Okay?”

Abel nods again, and then leans up on his tiptoes to reach the Commander's face. “Goodnight, Daddy,” he says, and then gives him a soft peck on the cheek.

Bering catches him by the crook of his arm as he begins to turn away. Pulls him back, and presses their lips together for a warm, bristly, open-mouthed kiss that is far too short. “Goodnight, little one,” he says in his low, husky voice.

Abel absent-mindedly licks his lips and walks backwards through the door, gazing into the Commander's eyes, and wondering as the door closes, why in the world he looks so sad.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some hatey rough sex, homophobic and threatening language, Cain being bad at sexy name calling, dirty talk, slapping, biting, choking, spanking, minor amounts of blood, and a nice extra helping of ANGST.

Cain looks up from his tablet when Abel comes through the door, with intense, searing eyes that Abel can feel on him even when he turns his back. It’s a familiar feeling to him now, an interesting sort of power that Abel knows he has, that Cain can't seem to look away. Abel makes a disdainful smirk where he can't see, but it's a bit hollow with how his heart is pounding on the inside, afraid that Cain will suspect something if he looks too long.

“The fuck've _you_ been?” the Fighter sneers, as Abel rummages in their foot locker for something to sleep in, before remembering he's already wearing his nightclothes under his uniform. He thinks a moment, needing to concoct a pair of lies.

“Oh, Cook had me working late in the lab again,” he says, groaning. “He wants that engine config done, like... yesterday.”

“Hmph,” he hears Cain grunt in resignation as he rushes into the small bathroom to 'change'. He doesn't usually, so he has to hope that Cain will be too horny or tired to notice. He slips out of his uniform, folding it smartly out of nervous habit, even though it will be sent to the laundry. He brushes his teeth, holding his own eyes in the mirror; he spits and then leans in close to inspect the fading scar, worrying at it with his fingers.

Cain can't see him in here, though Abel still feels his presence acutely through the wall, and he wonders if the Fighter's eyes are stuck to the door, waiting for him to come out. But Abel takes a moment first just to breathe deep, and try to fight his buzzing nerves.

He's been on edge all day, though he came once with his morning shower and once on his lunch break, anticipating what Bering would do to him so much, that he had to rush back to their quarters and get some relief. And now after that missed opportunity, his mind is static, hard to think with how hard he's getting, just thinking about the fact that Cain wants him, and he wants...

Abel sighs heavy. _“What do you want?”_ he pleads with the man in the mirror. His arms are shaking, tense with adrenaline-fueled nerves. Trying to be close to Cain is like playing with fire, and tonight he's just dowsed himself with gasoline.

His teeth chatter, and Abel shakes his head violently, pushing all the static away until all there is is oppressive calm, and the tension in his fingers as he clutches at the edges of the sink. He looks into the mirror with two fierce black eyes, and decides that's a question to answer on a different day.

 

Cain asks for sex the way an ill-mannered dog 'asks' for scraps at the table, by putting his face as close as possible to see what he can steal. Abel's lain on his back, making himself accessible without seeming too needy, but he still leans into it despite himself when Cain runs his tongue along his neck. Cain's hand drags over his stomach, pulling up his shirt and lightly tickling the muscle underneath the waistband of his shorts.

Abel spreads his fingers through Cain's hair, scraping short nails along his scalp. The Fighter runs his tongue over his teeth, giving Abel an appraising look as he shifts and straddles him. Then he leans down and sucks a mark over Abel's pulse, hands sneakily grabbing at Abel's wrists until they’re pinned above his head. Cain rolls his hips, slow and hard against him, and Abel suddenly remembers to breathe.

“Wanna fuck?” Cain mutters, as if it weren't already decided. Abel bites his lip to keep from saying that, instead giving him a small nod and moving up into him, and Cain's lids go heavy as he presses his lips over Abel's mouth.

Abel lets his mind wander, and it's so easy if he just closes his eyes, to imagine that he's being kissed by someone else, touched by someone else, held by someone else, and he gets lost in it, so far gone that he's fighting the name _Daddy_ on his tongue and no, he mustn't say that, can never say that because Cain can never know, no one can ever know. He doesn't even realize he's stopped responding until Cain stops, and looks up at him, annoyed.

“What?” Abel manages, his heart suddenly in his throat.

Cain holds onto him a little tighter. “You're shaking,” he says, the observation wrinkling his brow.

Normally Abel would find Cain’s concern sweet... endearing, even. But instead it’s just terrifying, and so Abel shrugs weakly, afraid of giving anything away. “I... I'm just... cold...” he lies.

“Oh, well I guess I need to warm you up, then, huh?” Cain says with a wolfish smile, and hoists Abel's legs around his waist. He grinds into him again and again, his hot mouth on Abel's neck, and Abel braces himself against the heat building in his groin with his fingers twisted in Cain's hair.

The Fighter stretches forward to grab their small tin of lube from under the mattress, and Abel runs his hands down Cain's sides, feeling the firm muscles move underneath, exploring, blushing a little when he squeezes Cain's muscular thighs. Cain looks at him with some unreadable expression when he pulls back, something carefully balanced between affection and condescension, as he presses his hand to the front of Abel's shorts, groping, smirking when he feels the precum that's leaked through. He runs his thumb over it, over the swollen head of Abel's cock, and Abel makes a whiny, undignified sound that he didn't mean to make.

Chuckling, Cain moves himself lower between Abel's legs, pulling the shorts away before settling down. He fingers Abel with his left hand, while flicking his tongue over Abel's nipple, drawing more sounds out of his exposed throat.

God, it's so good when it's good, when Cain is trying to be nice, to be gentle, when he pretends that they're anything at all. But Abel can't decide what's worse, that he would settle for just about anything at all with Cain, or that he's betraying whatever anything at all they have. Before he knows it, he's frozen again, tense as the wolf sniffs at him, hungry.

“Hey,” Cain says gruffly, frowning at him when Abel takes a few seconds to look up. “You want to or not?!”

“No, I do...” Abel insists, heart skipping a beat when he realizes he actually answered in the negative. “I want to. _Please,”_ he implores, wrapping a sensuous leg over Cain's leg to keep him close.

Cain flashes him a skeptical look. “Okay, but flip over,” he orders, sitting up so Abel can comply. “I can't deal with your bullshit right now,” and he dismisses Abel's face with a little flick of his hand.

He manages a weak scowl before he realizes that Cain is right, and maybe it'll be better this way, where he doesn't have to look him in the eyes. He rolls over onto his stomach and lifts up on his forearms, hanging his head low as Cain massages his fingers into his asscheeks and hips. Cain presses at Abel's hole with his cock, angling with his hand, letting out a gravelly sigh. “Relax, babe,” he says breathlessly, something forgiving and patient in it that allows Abel to release the tension that stiffens him at every joint, every muscle.

His face burns as Cain slowly pushes into him, soft hands gliding over his back the way a craftsman inspects his work. It makes Abel feel empty somehow, even as he lets out little sobs at the pleasure of Cain filling him up. _I don't deserve this_ , he thinks, _don't deserve for you to be nice._

_I don't want you to be nice._

He pushes back into him, goading Cain into finding a faster pace, but it's still not enough, even with those arrogant sighs Cain makes as he takes his pleasure, even with a heavy hand in his hair, forcing him to look at his own chest. He twists in his grip in order to be heard. “Cain... please.”

“Please what?” he answers, voice hoarse and distracted.

“Harder,” Abel demands. Then his voice gets very small. “...Hurt me.” 

Cain stops suddenly, and Abel cranes his neck to see the look on his face, full of confusion and darkness. “Say that again,” Cain snaps.

Abel raises up on his knees, twisting around more to grab Cain by the chin, looking him dead in the eyes. _“Hurt me,”_ he says through clenched teeth, and then grabs him a little tighter, so Cain knows he's not through. He narrows his eyes, making it a challenge. _“Fuck me like you hate me.”_

The Fighter stares at him for a moment, everything still, save for Abel's heart pounding and Cain's heaving chest. Abel watches long enough to see Cain's lip start to curl into a snarl, before he's shoved down onto the bed _hard._

“Oh, you asked for it, Princess!” Cain purrs. His bruising hands force Abel on his side, Cain's favorite position. Abel is so hard his cock is twitching up against his stomach as he shuts his eyes tight.

“Come here,” the Fighter growls, pulling Abel's ass flush against his own skin. “I'm gonna bugger you sideways into _next week!”_

 _“Yes,”_ Abel whispers, clutching at a pillow as Cain shoves his cock in again, burning Abel up from the inside.

“I shoulda known you'd be so fucking hot for it,” Cain laughs with disdain, twisting Abel's nipple mercilessly. “Your panties were _so_ wet when I pulled them off.”

“Fuck!” Abel gasps, and Cain leans down and sinks his fangs into Abel's back. He doesn't stop until Abel's crying out in pain and he's drawn blood, all the while still pounding into him with sharp thrusts.

Cain pulls at Abel's ear with his teeth, his breath dangerous and hot. “Mmmm, you're such a dirty little girl...” he says quietly, and drags his tongue along the edge. “I'd better _fuck you up_ so you can't even _come_ for anybody but me.”

Abel looks at him out of the corner of his eye, mouth open, inhaling the scent of sex and male aggression in the air. “Is that the worst insult you can come up with? Calling me a girl?!”

“Oh, that's not even close to what I have for your white --” a loud crack explodes in the small space as Cain spanks him hard, “-- Earth-pansy ass! You don't wanna fuck with me, you little cunt-stain piece-of-shit faggot-slut!” he almost shouts at him, spanking him again. But Abel just absorbs the words in his mind, like he's protected by some kind of ion shield, like he’s still up on the officer's deck, curled up in the warmth of another Fighter's arms. He is impervious, invincible, nothing can touch him, nothing can get to him unless Abel says so.

Nothing can hurt him worse than how he’s hurting himself.

“You want names? I'll fucking call you names,” Cain threatens.

Abel laughs nastily. “Fucking _call_ me one then already, what are you waiting for?”

“Oh! You little sass-mouthed BITCH,” Cain barks, spanking him again with another loud crack, and Abel lets out a sound that is too loud to be a sigh and too weak to be a moan.

Cain spits profanities at him, his voice scathing and explosive; his mouth is a volcano spewing the bowels of the earth. He takes Abel's aching cock in his hand and jerks him off like a punishment. When he runs out of things to call Abel in English, he switches to Russian, but not like it matters because Abel can barely hear him over his own cries of anguish and ecstasy. He hides his face in the pillow to muffle the sound as he screams Cain's name.

“Mmm, that's right,” Cain sneers, and Abel can almost see the cocky smile on his face. “Come for me, you little freak,” he breathes, and grazes his teeth over Abel's neck, making his skin tingle all over.

“Ahhh!!!” Abel lets out a broken sob as it hits him, hot cum shooting out onto his own chest. Cain makes a wordless, victorious, hissing sound as he watches, pumping Abel's cock until he's spent every last drop, fucking him slow and deep to drag it out.

“Abel,” he says finally, the name choked with how close he is, how bad he needs it.

In Abel’s addled state, he suddenly gets an idea, and turns up to look at Cain, summoning him forward with a weak crook of his finger, biting his lip. The Fighter leans in, expectant, almost hypnotized, still moving into Abel with shallow thrusts. Abel gently caresses his cheek for a moment, gazing into his clouded eyes, before pulling his hand back and slapping Cain hard across the face, knocking it to the side.

Cain glares at him out of the corner of his eye, partially hidden under his disheveled hair. Now it's Abel's turn to run his tongue over his teeth, taunting him as he feels Cain's cock swell even bigger inside him.

Despite that, Cain pounces on him, a murderous look in his eyes as he growls in Abel's face. “You hit me again, and I _will_ fuck you u--mmph!”

Abel silences him with a deep kiss, which Cain only barely protests, before melting into it a bit and going back to fucking him in a perfect rocking rhythm. Cain grunts into Abel’s mouth in time with his thrusts, before muttering playfully against his lips. “You little shit--”

“Shut up and fuck me,” Abel demands, and closes his hand around Cain's throat. The look of surprise on his face is priceless as he starts to come, filling Abel up and digging his nails hard into Abel's thigh.

“Uhh! Uh, _fuck!”_ Cain gasps as he goes still, and throws his head back in relief, his whole body going slack as he leans against Abel's thighs. He kneels there for a few moments, before collapsing boneless onto the mattress, landing up against Abel's back.

 

Cain lazily paws at him when he gets up, but Abel just shrugs him away and wobbles into the bathroom, still a bit out of breath. He showers in a hurry, towels dry, inspects the bite mark on his back in the mirror, and then pads out into the room. Trying not to make too much noise rummaging around in their footlocker, just in case Cain is trying to sleep, he finally finds the first aid kit and grabs some ointment. But Cain is still watching him from the bed when he contorts his arm around to smear some antibiotic on the bite.

Cain sighs impatiently. “Here let me do that--”

“I got it,” he says quickly, and reaches back another hand, hissing a bit as it starts to sting. Heat rises in his cheeks again, though he’s not exactly sure why. Maybe it’s just the thought that he asked Cain to do it to him, or maybe the look on Cain’s face that says that he regrets doing it. Abel spins around to return the kit to its place, stalling for time to let himself cool off, to convince himself that Cain wasn't just trying to do something nice for him.

When that’s done, Abel finally returns to bed, settling on his side, facing away from Cain. It isn’t long before Cain scoots closer, not quite spooning him, but Abel can feel his breath on his neck. “Hey,” he whispers, but Abel pretends to be asleep. _“Abel--”_

“What?!” Abel snaps, trying to sound sleepy, though he’s wide awake thanks to the nap he had in Bering’s arms.  

“You upset with me or somethin'?” Cain asks. “I mean, you know I didn't mean all those things I called you. Right?”

Abel sighs; guilt ties itself into a knot in his stomach. “No, Cain, I'm not upset with you,” he groans.

 _“Okay…?”_ Cain sounds a bit agitated now, defensive even. “Well you know that if somebody _else_ is fucking with you... that I'll take care of it, right? ...I mean, I'm your Fighter. That's practically my job."

“Cain,” Abel sighs again. “I appreciate your concern, but I can assure you, I'm not in any danger.”

“Well, I mean... it doesn't have to be physical danger, if someone is--”

“Cain,” he scolds. “Everything's fine. Don't worry. I'm just... exhausted.”

There are a few moments of silence, and Abel prays that’s the end of the conversation, but then Cain pipes up again. “Okay, but you _would tell_ me if--”

 _“Cain._ Go to sleep.”

“Fine...” the Fighter mutters, and then rolls over, wrestling with pillows and bedding until he finally settles, his back pressed warm against Abel’s back.

Abel loses it. He fights to keep himself perfectly still as tears start to roll down his face, breathing silently against Cain’s back with suffocating effort. It seems Cain is intent on refusing to let Abel push him away. And as strangely comforting as that is, it hurts too much to let himself even entertain the thought, that Cain might feel... anything at all. Abel fears it will break him if he doesn't. And he is sure it will break him if he does.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter depicts a Daddy/little boy scene played out by two consenting adults, but it does contain age play, light consent play, orgasm denial, aftercare, and an attempt at depicting 'littlespace', or regression. Also, Bering's chest hair.

Abel still finds himself on the officer's level a few days later, after wringing his hands all day over an encrypted message, telling him to come at the usual time. But he has come to see Bering's quarters as a sanctuary, somewhere he can escape to, a place he yearns to go when he's feeling stressed and torn up inside. He's aware of the paradox, of relying on a source of his anxiety to relieve his anxiety, but somehow that contradiction seems a whole lot easier to face than his complicated feelings for Bering and Cain.

“Seven-two-six-six-two-four-three,” Abel mutters to himself, as he keys in the memorized code. The door slides open, and he lets himself in, heart fluttering as he sees the Commander on the sofa, reading a tablet with his ankle hooked over his knee. Bering sips from a tumbler of synthetic vodka on the rocks, and then sets it back on the glass coffee table, not acknowledging his visitor at all.

Abel dares him to look as he undresses, slowly pulling down the zipper of his jacket, giving him a bit of a show even though Bering’s only watching in his peripheral vision. After putting his uniform away in the closet, he pads over to the sofa in his bare feet. He walks behind it and leans over, running his hands down Bering’s chest and singing playfully in his ear. “Daaaaddy...”

“Mm?” Bering grunts in answer.

“Whatcha doin'?”

“Oh, I'm just... looking over some supply requisitions, some daily reports… you know, Commander stuff...”

“Can I help?” Abel asks hopefully, and maybe a little seductively, too.

Bering laughs, an almost patronizing chuckle. “Heh-heh, sure, come sit in my lap and help me,” he says, glancing back, inviting Abel with a pat on his thigh. Abel walks around and climbs into his lap, legs sprawled across, settling with his head snuggled into the older man's chest. This is just the start, the beginning of this game they play, so Bering just hooks his arm around Abel’s waist, fingers massaging into the ticklish part of his hip. Then he goes back to his _very_ interesting war reports.

It was here that Abel fell asleep last time, and now he remembers why, with how safe and warm he feels, curled up against the older man. He could stay like this for hours, listening to the Commander breathe, but he feels he owes it to both of them to make a more valiant effort this time around.

Abel lets his hands wander, ghosting over the Commander's chest and his stomach, feeling his sculpted muscle under the fabric of his uniform. Bering tolerates the small touches of innocent affection, so Abel dares to go further down, until he brushes up against his groin.

Bering immediately drops his tablet and grabs Abel’s wrist, startling him, even though he halfway knows to expect it. “What do you think you're doing?” the Commander sounds more shocked than angry, as he gives Abel a scandalized glare.

“I... I was just touching you?” Abel answers with big doe eyes, and Bering frowns.

“It's not appropriate for you to touch me that way, Abel,” he says gruffly. “Understand?”

Abel nods, a perfect picture of contrition. “I'm sorry, Daddy.”

“It's alright, just sit here and let me finish reading, okay?” Bering says, pulling Abel back into the warmth of his chest.

Abel lets out a bored sigh, turning his eyes to the Commander’s tablet, and the adept way he can hold it with the same hand he's turning pages with his thumb, as if he reads reports with a Navigator in his arm all the time. Abel catches fragments, just enough to conclude that things look all too grim for the Alliance, and he can’t blame the older man for wanting to escape all of that. Become someone different for a little while, not a Fighter, not a Commander responsible for a ship full of men... just Daddy, responsible for exactly one little Abel.

He bites his lip as he starts to draw meaningless designs on Bering’s chest with his fingers, teasing in his own way, testing the older man’s resolve. He suspects Bering would let him touch him like this for hours, would sit there getting hard forever without saying anything, waiting for Abel to cave first.

Finally, he slides his hand down to Bering’s cock, feeling it come to life under layers of clothes, in the split second before he is snatched up. The tablet crashes to the ground as the older man yanks Abel up to straddle him, holding both the blond’s wrists up to his shoulders.

“What did I tell you about touching me there?” Bering half-scolds, half-pleads.

“I… I…”

“Are you _trying_ to tempt me, boy?”

“No, Daddy!” Abel insists. ”It’s just… when I touch myself there… it feels good,” he explains shyly, wiggling himself a little in Bering’s lap for good measure. Bering swallows, a nervous look in his eye; he slackens his grip on Abel’s wrists. “I thought… I could make you feel good too,” Abel shrugs.

“Abel,” Bering half-heartedly shakes his head. “We can’t. We could get in a lot of trouble,” he frets.

Abel leans in close, giving the older man the biggest doe eyes he can muster. “I won’t tell anyone,” he says, cheek pressed to Bering’s whiskery cheek. “It can be our secret,” he whispers, and then pulls his hand out of Bering’s grasp, sliding it sensuously down his own thigh before reaching again for the other man’s cock. He glides the palm of his hand over it in circles, as he presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, then nuzzles into his beard and listens to him try to stifle a moan. “Does it feel good, Daddy?” he breaths, shifting to press a chaste kiss to the older man’s lips.

“Yes, baby,” Bering whispers, something almost mournful in it as he kisses Abel back, holding onto Abel’s waist like he’s not quite sure what he’s allowed to do with his hands.

Abel looks down at him, pleased with how enraptured he looks by Abel’s performance, and he takes Bering’s hands into his own. “It’s okay… It’s okay,” he says, sliding them down to the front of his shorts. “You can touch me too.”

Abel hums as they lock lips again, and Bering’s hand glides up his length, fingertips brushing against the sensitive head through the cotton fabric. He moves into it, barely grinds into the touch, still paying Bering’s cock as much attention as he can. Abel leans in with parted lips toward Bering’s mouth, but then he feints, pressing a kiss to Bering’s cheek instead, whimpering almost right into his ear. Feeling Bering shudder underneath him, Abel gives him another trembling sigh.

Bering slips his hands around and begins to tug at the elastic of Abel’s shorts, fingers just barely exploring the crevice of his ass. Melting against him, Abel presses distracted kisses to Bering’s neck as the other man’s fingers tease the sensitive skin, slowly working their way towards his entrance. It’s amazing how much patience he has, the self-control of a fucking mountain, and Abel wants to be patient too, wants to be perfectly what Bering wants, even if Bering insists he has nothing to prove.

He lifts up and nuzzles against the older man’s nose, humming as Bering begins to finger him at last, just teasing still, working in the tip of his finger. Bering watches him intently, pressing soft kisses to his lips, stopping only to give Abel a gentle shush when he makes wordless complaints about how bad he wants it.

Abel gasps when he finally slides his finger in all the way, giving Bering’s bottom lip a frustrated nibble. Bering only laughs and fucks him deeper with his finger, deep but still languidly slow.

“Oh, Daddy _please…”_ he breathes against Bering’s lips. “More! I want _more...”_

The Commander sighs, giving him a worried look. “Abel, baby, we really shouldn’t--”

“Don’t you want me, Daddy?” Abel interrupts, moving himself against his erection again, like simulating fucking, even as he gives Bering a big pair of puppy dog eyes.

“Of course,” Bering says, gazing into his eyes. “Of course I want you, sweetheart. I want you more than anything in the whole world.”

Something like lightning rips through Abel’s nerves, paralyzing him for a moment before he twists his fingers into the front of Bering’s uniform jacket and pouts. “Then _play with me,"_ he demands huskily.

There’s just a glint of wickedness in Bering's eye, unblinking, deadly calm, commanding Abel's attention without speaking a word. He pulls his finger out and gently squeezes Abel ass. “Go stand by the bed, and take off your clothes,” he orders, so quiet, but full of a latent danger that goes straight between Abel’s legs.

Abel shifts off of him slowly, still aiming to be as seductive as possible, though he’s already won his prize. He stands there, awkward and fully hard, shorts pulled off his hips, almost feeling like the Commander needs to dismiss him, which he does with only a diagonal motion of his eyes, a slight tilt of his head. Sitting there hard with his legs apart, Bering still manages to look utterly composed.

But as he walks away, Abel sees him strain forward for his tumbler of vodka, and when he puts it back down, it sounds like it’s empty of everything but ice.

 

It’s the first time that he’s been naked in front of Bering, and he finds himself surprisingly comfortable with it. A few weeks ago, he never would have imagined doing something like this, especially not with Bering. But there’s something intoxicating about the way Bering looks at him, drinking in the sight of his body, and Abel wonders which one of them will get more drunk.

Holding Abel’s eyes, Bering unfastens the high collar of his coat. Abel reaches forward and nudges Bering’s hands away. “Let me, Daddy,” he whispers, and goes to work undoing buttons. Bering lets the jacket slide off his shoulders, obviously flexing for Abel with his arms behind his back, until the coat drops into his hands. He raises his eyebrows at him subtly, almost like he’s breaking character, a flicker of something young and wild, before he turns and tosses it onto an armchair nearby. Then he returns his attention to Abel, who is trying very hard not to be too eager about taking off Bering’s undershirt. Instead, Abel takes the time to appreciate a few visible scars that cut white through the older man’s thick arm hair, the network of veins that show under his tan skin.

Bering lifts his arms so Abel can pull the shirt over his head, and with it out of the way, Abel tentatively explores the coarse hair that covers his chest. It’s softer than it looks, so he gets a little bolder, running his hands down to his stomach. There’s something different about being with Bering, that makes Abel feel so young and small, shy but curious. He playfully nuzzles his nose into the thick hair and smiles against Bering’s pectoral muscle, as he pulls at the waist of his trousers.  “Daddy?” Abel says quietly.

Bering looks down at him, cradles Abel’s head in both hands, and brings him forward for a kiss, catching Abel off guard with the desperate intensity of it, almost bruising his lips even though he can barely feel Bering’s fingers in his hair. Abel wraps his arms around Bering’s waist and tilts his head in surrender, pressing their groins together, inviting more, but the older man takes his time, kissing slow so Abel feels every millimeter of his plump lips. His whiskers tickle Abel’s face, leaving a slight burning, tingling in their wake.

Suddenly, Bering sets his hands on Abel’s shoulders and spins him around... glides his soft hands over Abel’s chest as he kisses his spine, his neck, his shoulder. Abel leans into it, reaching back to caress Bering’s hair, wanting this feeling of being cherished to last forever. A heaviness in his heart tells him it’s on a vastly different plane than anything he’s ever had with Cain, and he wonders briefly if he ever will.

Bering finds a certain place on his shoulder blade, and Abel startles when he remembers the bite mark Cain left on him the other day. But Bering just runs his fingers over it, kisses it gently and then whispers into his ear, “Go sit on the bed, sweetie.” Abel complies in an instant and climbs onto the bed, reclining there before his knees go too weak.

Abel takes a deep breath as he watches Bering undress the rest of the way, facing away from him, but he looks away when the older man walks over to his nightstand to open a drawer, a blush rising in his cheeks at the sight of the Commander completely naked.

Bering joins him on the bed with a small bottle, setting it close-by as he takes Abel's hand, pulling him into his lap. Their cocks brush against each other, causing the two of them to sigh as they get settled, with Abel’s legs wrapped around Bering’s waist. Seeing Bering hold up his hands, Abel meets them with his own, smiling as their fingers lace together between them. “Are we gonna play a game, Daddy?”

“Hmmm,” Bering ponders with an amused smirk, gazing into his eyes again. "I suppose we could.”

"What kind of game could we play?" Abel asks, squeezing his hands tighter to keep balance.

Bering thinks about it some more. "How about one called, 'Abel isn't allowed to come, until Daddy says so'."

Abel snorts a laugh, giggling at how absolutely wrong and fun and hot the whole thing is. He mocks an attitude, giving Bering a look. “That doesn't sound like the name of a game--"

“Shhh,” Bering runs his hands up the blond’s sides and grazes his thumbs over Abel’s nipples, barely touching them at first, but still inducing a small wave of pleasure. Abel holds onto Bering by the short hair on the back of his head, unable to stop himself from moaning as each touch gets more intense. Bering moves his thumbs in firmer and firmer circles until the nipples peak, and then he starts to pinch, softly at first, just rolling between his fingers. He gradually ramps it up, fine tuning one of Abel’s nipples and sucking on the other, until he cries out in pleasure/pain, certain he could come just from this alone. “Uhhh, Daddy _please,”_ he whimpers, shuddering, and bites his lip again. 

Watching him carefully with those commanding eyes, Bering reaches for the nearby bottle, and squeezes some of the contents onto his hand. But instead of going behind to stretch him out, Bering slides the lube onto Abel’s cock, causing him to gasp from the sudden cold. He works both his hands over Abel’s cock, just the most imperceptible touches at first, and Abel begins to notices the pattern as the touches get firmer and firmer. He feels his cheeks burn red from how hard he is already, from having Bering’s eyes on him as he reacts to every infinitesimal thing the older man does.

Bering massages the head of his cock with both his thumbs, so good and slick with the lube that Abel is seeing stars. “Ohhh!” he says shakily, nudging his hips into it, so close to the edge.

“Not yet, baby,” Bering whispers and pulls his hands away. “Not yet…”

Abel whines, but quickly shuts himself up when Bering squeezes himself some more lube, and begins to work Abel open at last. He leans into the older man, resting his head on his shoulder, running his hands through soft chest hair, as Bering supports his weight and slowly pushes into him with two fingers, rolling them against his sweet spot.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you...” Bering says, his voice gravelly and low and pervading, tickling the hairs in Abel’s ear, rattling his bones and making him shudder.

“Nnn, _please,_ Daddy,” Abel answers, voice shaking with need.

“Wanted to _make you mine_ ,” the older man growls, and Abel shudders again, cock throbbing with it as Bering shifts underneath him, and slides his cock between Abel’s cheeks, teasing, always teasing.

Abel just takes in a shaky breath and digs his nails into Bering’s shoulders, too turned on to even try to reply. Too powerless with Bering pushing buttons he didn’t even know he had. It makes him feel vulnerable, and so _small,_ the sensation overtaking him, surrounding him like the deep resonance of Bering's voice. He warned Abel that something like this might happen, that he might lose himself in the innocence of a child-like mind.

“Be a good boy for me now, Abel…” Bering mutters as he pushes inside. Abel gasps, mouth open wide from the relief and the sweet tension of it as he adjusts, stretching even more around the slicked head of Bering’s cock.

“Relax, baby,” the older man breathes. “Give yourself to me.”

“Oh, Daddy,” Abel mumbles, and melts against him, letting Bering hold him in his arms as he pushes in deeper and deeper, Abel's cock heavy and pressed in between them, tickled by the soft carpet of hair on Bering's stomach.  He needs it now, desperately, needs his Daddy to be inside him, closer than he's ever been to anyone before.

Bering slides a comforting hand over his back as Abel takes him in fully. He holds them still when Abel tries to ride him, still strong and immovable as a mountain, even now when he's rock hard and buried deep inside of Abel, a small stream of sweat rolling down his temple with the effort of holding back. But Bering’s cock twitches inside him, and Abel quakes in his arms, hugging him tighter to brace against it. As he feels Bering move in and out of him a fraction, every touch, every incidental movement sends an unbearable wave of pleasure through his body, until he’s practically shouting instead of moaning.

“Shhh, baby, you’re okay,” Bering murmurs in his ear, voice thick with arousal as he caresses him, presses gentle kisses on his over-sensitive skin.

Abel smiles a little. “Do I feel good, Daddy?”

“Of course you do,” he answers softly. “You feel perfect. You know why?”

“Why?” Abel finds himself breathlessly in awe at the prospect of finding out.

“Because this is where Daddy belongs,” Bering answers, putting his hand down to feel where they are joined. “This is where I belong. Right here.”

Abel has his mouth on Bering’s instantly, tongue searching deep, just needing him, needing to belong to him in every physical way possible. Their lips still locked, he pulls Bering on top of him, lying back on the bed, his legs still wrapped around Bering's waist.

They go faster now, but not too fast, Bering still intent on making sure Abel feels every inch of him every time he moves in and out, heavy above him. Still, Abel can feel it building inside himself, a perfect storm of pleasure and pressure and heat. "Come," Bering says softly, and at just that single word he cries out, voice rising in a shaky crescendo until he’s screaming, and Bering has to silence him with another kiss as he comes, his orgasm pulsing through his entire body in wave after wave, as he mewls into the other man's mouth. Bering goes over the edge with him, groaning loud into Abel's neck as he spills inside of him, thrusting deep, and it’s then that Abel realizes he’s not quite finished.

“Oh god… don’t stop, Daddy _please_ don’t stop,” he pleads frantically, riding on the verge of a climax so huge it's almost frightening him. Bering looks at him with huge but hungry eyes, pushing Abel's thighs up to his chest and fucking him deeper. Abel throws his head back and works his hand over his own cock, as he's hit by a climax that blows the first one out of the water, exploding hot onto his own stomach as Bering supports him with a gentle hand in his hair. Just then, Bering shouts above him, and tenses up with an aftershock, eyes glazing over as he finally goes still, and gives Abel a lazy and sated grin.

 

Entirely fucked out, his limbs shaky and weak, Abel lets Bering rearrange them, getting them both situated under the covers, as he grapples with his altered state of mind, feeling even smaller and more vulnerable than before.

“How do you feel, baby?” Bering asks finally.

Abel only answers with a tiny “Daddy,” and curls up into Bering’s warm chest, holding onto him for dear life, face pressed in soft hair.

“You’re okay, baby. I’m here,” Bering whispers, and pets Abel’s hair as he tangles their legs together to bring them closer. “That happens sometimes. But I got you, okay?”

“You’re such a good Daddy,” Abel says, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re so good to me.”

Bering leans down and kisses his forehead about a dozen times, slow and soothing, until Abel finally lets himself relax in his arms and snuggle a little closer.  “I have something that might make you feel better,” Bering offers.

“You _do?”_ Abel asks with an exaggerated helping of curiosity.

“Yep,” the older man answers, and then kisses his forehead again. “It’s hidden under the bed though.”

“What is it?” Abel looks up at him with big eyes.

“You’ll see…” Bering replies, giving him a playful smile. “Is it okay if I go get it?”

“Mmhm,” Abel nods weakly, and watches as Bering peels himself off the bed, crouching to reach for something underneath.

He holds it up for Abel to see, and declares, “It’s a comfort object.”

“ _Daddy,”_ Abel scolds, in that condescending, know-it-all attitude that a child might use with a misinformed adult. “That’s a teddy bear.”

“It’s a _comfort object,”_ Bering grumps.

Abel’s heart leaps in his chest; the blood drains out of his cheeks as he stares at the pouty look on Bering’s face, sure that he’s seen it somewhere before. Abel tries to imagine what Bering would look like if he were younger and had longer bangs.

“Do you want it?” Bering holds out the fluffy, grey bear, and Abel nods and takes it from him, drawing it into his chest.

“His name is Scoobie,” Bering explains as they get settled again, with Abel snuggled into Bering’s chest and Scoobie snuggled into his own.

“Scoobieeee!” Abel sings quietly, burying his nose into the soft fur, and looking up at Bering, hiding his whole face except for his eyes. “He smells like you,” he observes, his voice muffled by the bear.

Bering just chuckles at him and strokes his fingers through his hair, giving him a cheerful smirk, and again Abel gets an unshakeable feeling that he’s seen it before. He studies Bering intensely, his dark, expressive eyes, his raven hair with the splash of white… and then it hits him.

“ _...Cain?!”_

Bering flinches, looks down at him and frowns. “That’s not my name, sweetheart,” he says with only the slightest hint of agitation in his voice.

“Oh…” Abel rasps, gazing into Bering’s heartbroken eyes. “I’m sorry if I made you sad, Daddy.”

“I’m not sad,” Bering protests. “Do I look sad?”

“Mmhm.” Abel nods innocently.

Bering pulls him up so that Abel is at eye level, and strokes his cheek with his thumb, giving him a small, but genuine smile. “How could I possibly be sad, when I’m with you?”

Abel can’t help but beam at that, and blush, and try to hide it by leaning into Bering’s touch.

“Seeing you smile,” Bering continues slowly, “is one of my favorite things... in the whole… universe.”

But the more Abel looks at him, the more convinced he becomes. There’s a definite resemblance between Bering and Cain. He can't be imagining it, although his mind _is_ hazy... maybe it's just his guilt finally bleeding through.

“Daddy?” He tries. “I think… I think I’m confused…”

“Well that’s okay,” Bering replies, lightly combing his fingers through Abel’s hair. “You know why?”

“Why?” Abel asks, still in awe of him.

“Because me, and Scoobie,” Bering says, snuggling closer to Abel and the bear. “Are gonna stay with you, and we’re gonna take care of you, until you don’t feel confused anymore. Okay? We got you.”

“Okay,” Abel agrees cutely and hugs his new bear friend.

“You’re safe here," Bering insists. "Okay?”

“Okay...”

“Do you feel safe?”

Abel ponders, eyes peering around the large room. “I think… I would feel safer under the covers,” he declares, and pulls them over his head. “Come on, Daddy,” he demands, reaching a hand out to pull a laughing Bering into the sanctuary, where they’ll be protected and hidden from all the burdens and terrors of the world.

 


	4. Chapter 4

It takes Abel’s mind two days to work it out, put the pieces together. They slowly float and interlock together in his sleep, fragments of sound and sight, as if he were swimming in murky water. And when the puzzle is finally complete, Abel shoots up in the bed, gasping for air in a cold sweat.

_Bering called me princess._

His bedmate startles beside him, but Abel is so shaken he can’t react. “Abel?” Cain mumbles, then pushes up frantically. “Abel, what’s wrong?!”

Panting, Abel’s eyes search the darkness, not sure of anything anymore. “Am I awake?” he breathes.

“I… think so?” Cain answers. “It was just a bad dream, baby, go back to sleep.”

Abel shakes his head tightly, the notion would be maddening if it were true. “No… no, I don’t think it was a dream?”

“It was a dream, sweetie,” Cain yawns, his voice somewhere between exhaustion and exasperation. His heavy hand rests on Abel’s back. “It was just a dream. Go back to sleep.”

Sweetie. Bering called him that too. Abel turns, looks at him warily, squinting to see his face in the light that seeps in from the hall. “Do… do you remember?” he tries. “The teddy bear.”

Cain looks as confused as Abel feels. He shakes his head. “What’s a teddy bear?”

“You don’t know what a _teddy bear is?!”_ Abel asks with wide eyes.

“ _...No?_ What is that, some kind of monster they scare Earth kids with at slumber parties?!”  Cain asks, looking at Abel like he is a madman.

Abel ignores that, thinks for a moment, then rolls his eyes, remembering another piece of the puzzle. “Oh, ugh, okay… _comfort object?”_ he groans.

“I don’t know what the fuck that is either. Abel, what are you on about?”

“I…” Abel stops himself from saying anything further, not able to explain his predicament to Cain even if he had an explanation. Bering called him princess, he didn’t dream that... Did he?

“Hey. Come here,” Cain whispers, scooting closer, enveloping Abel between his legs and arms. “Sweetheart,” he scolds urgently, pulling Abel into his chest. “You’re shaking! Why are you always -- Abel what’s going on?!” he half-demands and half-pleads.

Abel doesn’t even try to answer that question, just pulls out of Cain’s grasp and stands on top of the mattress, determined to leave before he can get too comfortable in Cain’s arms, still not entirely sure he isn’t involved in it somehow.

“...Where are you going?!” Cain wholly demands then.

“I need to take a walk,” Abel declares, digging in the foot locker for something to wear.

“Tch! It’s two in the fucking morning!”

“I know, I just…” Abel sighs. “I won’t be able to sleep now anyway.”

Cain stands up, then, grunting sleepily with the effort. “Well then I’m going with you.”

Abel stops, and turns sharp on his heel to look at him. “N-no!” he protests, knowing he can’t take Cain with him where he plans to go, knowing he’s too confused and tired to come up with a lie if Cain presses him.

“I’m not having you sleepwalking around the ship at two in the morning by yourself,” Cain says sternly.

“I’m awake!” Abel snaps at him, then tries to lower his voice so as not to seem too defensive.  “I’m awake, I just… I need to be alone, Cain. I just want some time alone.”

He goes back to throwing on his uniform, Cain standing there to his side, watching him with arms crossed. The Fighter lets out a somber sigh. “...Are you gonna have time alone up on the officers’ deck?” he asks, calmly, so it takes a moment for Abel to process that it’s an accusation, and still another for the blood in his veins to freeze.

“What?!” he squeaks out, whipping his head to look at his accuser.

“You heard me,” Cain says, features emotionless and stark in the darkness.

“What, so you’ve been _spying on me?!”_

“Yes. I have,” Cain admits, taking an imposing step forward, throwing up his hands. “Because you won’t tell me what’s going on. You’ve been acting weird for weeks! I’ve tried to.. _be_ here for you or whatever, I’ve tried to get you to fucking talk about it, but you won’t talk about it,” he says in Abel’s face. “So yes. I spied on you. So, are you going to tell me what you’ve been doing up there?”

Abel scoffs, sounding guilty even in his own ears, and maybe relieved that he doesn’t already know. “Cain, what I do up there is absolutely none of your concern!”

“Bullshit!” Cain hisses. “It is my concern, you know why? Because when you’re fucked up in the head like this, I’m the one that has to fly with you,” he growls, pointing an accusing finger at his own heart. “We could have incoming at any moment, and if you make some shitty rookie mistake because your head’s up your ass, _my life_ is on the line, and yours, so yes, it is my concern.”

Abel balls his hands into fists at his sides, jaw set, giving Cain a hard glare even though he’s very close to being a puddle of slushy snow on the floor.

“Listen. Abel,” Cain puts his hands on Abel’s shoulders, his voice much softer now. “I’m not mad. Okay? I’m just…” he hesitates, fighting with himself for a word. “I’m just _worried_ about you. But what am I supposed to do when you won’t talk to me? You know I’m gonna think the worst… that… someone is hurting you? Or threatening you? Or blackmailing you, or whatever the fuck?!”

“N-no… no, it’s not--” The words die in Abel’s throat, as once again he’s stuck, unable to trust himself to lie, even if it’s to make Cain feel better. “… It’s just… Look,” he bargains. “I’m going to fix it. I’m gonna go up there and fix it right now. But I have to do this by myself, Cain. You have to let me do it alone.”

“You’ve been going up there for weeks, it hasn’t fixed a goddamn thing,” Cain retorts, pulling his hands away and shrugging like there’s no fight left in him. “You’ve just gone from, being scared of your own shadow, to asking me to call you names during sex and then crying yourself to sleep, to waking up in the middle of the fucking night.”

Abel’s head begins to spin with all the things he didn’t know Cain knew, all the things he didn’t know Cain cared about. Looking at the pain in his Fighter’s eyes, he’s so close to passing out that his bottom lip is numb, so he just blinks in stunned silence.

“So what’s different this time. Hm?” Cain challenges. “What changed all of a sudden?”

“I...” Abel stammers weakly. “I just figured something out that I didn’t know before. I -- I can’t explain. But... it’ll be better after this. I promise," he pleads. He seriously considers just throwing his arms around Cain and holding him and begging for his forgiveness, but something stops him, tells him he's has to get out of the room before he breaks down and never figures out the truth.

The Fighter purses his lips and nods, slight like he’s making up his mind about something. “Okay… Ultimatum time,” he declares. “You have tonight, to fix this shit. Or else, I’m going to Cook, and I’m telling him you’re not mentally fit to fly.”

Abel reflexively flares his nostrils like that might help him breathe better. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Actually, I would,” Cain replies with a taunting tilt of his head. “I’m your partner. I share a ship with you, I share a room with you, I share a _bed_ with you, I know you better than anyone else, and on top of that, it is my _responsibility_ to look after you.” He steps even closer to Abel, looking him hard in the eyes. “Don’t even try to fucking call a bluff, Abel. Because I would take myself down with you, if that’s what it took for you to get your shit together.”

They stare each other down for a few tense moments, before Abel finally finds the strength to speak. “You done?” he says flatly

Cain drags his eyes down Abel’s body, sizing him up for something, before he pivots to clear the way to the door, hands on his hips. He gives Abel a cold but pitying look as the blond storms past him, as if Cain were the only thing standing in between Abel and the teddy-bear monsters outside.


	5. Chapter 5

“Abel?!” Bering asks sleepily when the door slides open, though his eyes are wild and alarmed.

“Can I come in?” Abel asks, but in a tone that makes it hardly a question at all. He’s here for answers and he’s not leaving until he’s gotten some.

The older man steps out of the way to let him pass, nodding and yawning at the same time. Still, he watches Abel carefully, clearly unsettled by the late-night visit.

Bering doesn’t look much like a Commander at two in the morning.  He’s in a red velvet robe, a t-shirt and some boxers showing where he hasn’t tied the waistbelt very tight. His hair is a mess, part of it licked up on the back of his head, and Abel tries to shake away the image of someone else grabbing Bering by the hair in the throes of pleasure. Shoving back a twinge of jealousy, he quickly pushes forward with the purpose of his visit. “I think you know why I’m here.”

Bering closes his eyes, grimacing with what looks like regret, before he nods solemnly. He gestures Abel towards the sofa, lips pressing together as the blond complies.

Abel sits and takes a deep breath, barely looking at the Commander, who sits a couple feet away, too close but at the same time, entirely too far.

“You called me princess,” Abel says, glancing at him out of the corner of the eye and then fixating on the glass coffee table. Easier to focus on something transparent than this convoluted mess.

Bering nods. He’s hunched over, head hanging low, fidgeting his hands in between his knees.

“I think you owe me an explanation for that,” Abel scolds, the roles suddenly reversed between them.

The Commander takes a surprisingly long time to respond. Tension hangs thick in the air as Abel waits, sitting there with his head groggy and his heart pounding. “I made a mistake,” Bering finally says. I slipped up. I’m sorry. I had no right to call you that.”

Abel narrows his eyes. It’s too generic an explanation for thinking that much about it. “Well it’s not just that you called me that. How… would you even _know_ to call me that?” he presses, and Bering turns his head, once again looking at Abel with someone else’s eyes, full of hurt and worry. It gives Abel the courage to go even further. “Why is it that when I look at you, sometimes, for a split second… I think I’m looking at _him?”_

The older man obviously knows who he means, and hangs his head in his hands, sliding them back over his hair before closing them over his mouth. “Fuck,” he mutters and then sighs heavy. “I guess there’s no point in playing dumb with you is there?” he jokes, his chuckle devoid of any humor. Abel would shake his head in response, but Bering wouldn’t see it anyway, too busy still hanging his head and staring at the carpet. So he just watches as Bering scrubs his face with frustration.

Finally, he sits back against the sofa, sighing again as he looks Abel in the eyes. “Alright, I’m just going to start at the beginning, because it’s easier that way. Okay?”

“Alright?” Abel replies, quirking up an uncertain eyebrow.

“This ship... is stuck,” Bering starts, fingers drumming nervously in an uneven rhythm on his thigh. “In some kind of temporal loop, that has repeated about fifty times now.”

Abel frowns, trying to process the unexpected left turn in the conversation. “Why haven’t I heard about this before?!” he asks in disbelief.

The Commander shrugs, not quite looking at him. “Well, Cook seems to think that telling everyone about it might disrupt things, you know butterfly effect and all that.”

Frowning even more, Abel has to concede, that from the little he knows about time anomalies, that it’s a plausible explanation. To one question anyway. “I see?”

“Anyway,” Bering continues, his voice quiet and somber and defeated. “When the sequence resets itself, the only two people that remember anything, are me and Commander Cook. We’re the only two that age. We’re the only two that have lived through every single iteration.”

Abel darts his eyes around the dark space, wondering if Bering is any closer to answering his original question, wondering if that even matters anymore with such a crisis on their hands.

“The reason that I remind you so much of Cain,” Bering says slowly, the drumming on his leg becoming more violent and agitated before it finally stops altogether, “… is because… I am Cain.”

Stunned, Abel’s brain tries to go in a million different directions at once, so it ends up going nowhere at all. He furrows his brow, trying to rationalize, trying to go back over everything that’s happened, trying to look at Bering a little closer in the dim light.

“Obviously I don’t know anything about temporal physics,” the older man explains. “There’s no way for me to help. I’m just… stuck here… watching myself slowly become an old man. And Cook…” he snorts bitterly. “He’s so busy running everybody ragged, he… he doesn’t have time for me.”

He meets Abel’s eye, suddenly looking so small and young and pitiful. “I got lonely,” he apologizes with a weak shrug.

“So…” Abel’s voice cracks under the weight of one too many revelations, so he swallows and tries gain. “Cook… you and _Cook?!”_

Bering gives him a guilty look, then glances towards the ceiling in a way that tells Abel that’s not exactly the whole story. The puzzle must be much bigger than he could have imagined. But if this supposed Cain was sleeping with Cook, then, “Cook is _me,”_ he whispers.

The realization hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity, with Abel’s eyes wide and Bering’s eyes downcast, staring at the sofa or maybe Abel’s thigh. “You can _not_ tell him that you know that,” Bering says finally. “You cannot mention this to anybody. Especially not Cain. I’ve fucked up too much already. This time, anyway. Next time, I’ll have to be more careful.”

 _Next time?!_ Abel flinches, mind racing as he leans in to look at Bering closer. “So… you do this… _we_ do this… every time?!” he asks frantically.

“Well, this is the first time we’ve had _this_ conversation,” Bering admits, tilting his head back in forth, dancing around something. “But yes, once we started, I figured, I had to keep things _kind _of_ _ the same every time, so yeah.”

“Oh, how _convenient_ for you…” Abel scoffs, half joke and half contempt, still not sure at all what to think.

Bering gives him another regretful look. “But… I’ve learned a lot about you, you know?” he tries. “I’ve gotten better at… this,” he says, gesturing back and forth between the two of them. “I know exactly what to say, what to do…”

“To get me in bed with you,” Abel groans the accusation, still a bit miffed even if it is Cain.

The Commander pouts at that, looking more like Cain that he ever has. “To… pleasure you?” he mopes. “To make love to you?”

Abel hugs his arms around himself, shrinking away, feeling betrayed, manipulated somehow even if the man’s intentions were good.

Brows furrowing, Bering tentatively scoots to sit a little closer to him. “I’m sorry, Abel. You have to know that I would never hurt you -- _Intentionally,”_ he adds with a shrug. “I just… saw that you noticed me, and you seemed interested, so--”

“Well, I was, but…” Abel interrupts, arguing with his own thoughts. “I don’t think I ever would have-- well, no, I guess I did, didn’t I? ...So I guess I would.”

“Would what?” Bering asks, eyes shifting back and forth.

“Ch-cheat on Cain?” Abel falters. “I mean, I don’t know maybe it’s not cheating. I-I don’t know!” He throws up his hands, and Bering winces. “But either way, who knows what Cain would do if he found out I was sleeping with someone else…”

“Uh, me? I do?” Bering laughs, giving Abel a sincere and hopeful smile that slowly melts back into concern when Abel doesn’t reciprocate. “Do you honestly think I would put you in that kind of danger?”

Still hugging himself, Abel shrugs, uncertain. “So… Cain wouldn’t care?”

“I didn’t say he wouldn’t _care_. But honestly,” the older man admits shyly. “It might sting a little, but... in a weird way, I think it would make him want you even more. It would make him feel like he had to compete for you. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing,” he points out.

Abel finds himself relaxing a bit, but he presses his lips together, still trying to decide how much of this to believe. “Do you have… _any_ proof of… any of this?” he tries. “I mean, whether it’s true or not, obviously I can’t go to Cook and corroborate your story.”

Bering thinks a moment, slowly nodding at the floor. “Yeah, I do,” he realizes. “Just a sec,” he says quickly, and then stands up. Abel watches as he goes over to the bed and reaches for something underneath. He comes back with the teddy bear in his hands.

Abel makes a confused face. “Scoobie?”

“Look at the tag,” Bering says as he offers it. Abel takes the bear from him, and flips it over, leaning closer to read something written in black ink, squinting in the low light:

Sacha’s  
COmfort  
OBject  
I Love You  
Ethan

Abel shudders, suddenly cold and pumped full of adrenaline. “This is my handwriting!” he manages to say.

“Mmhm.”

“But... I don’t remember ever writing this.”

“You…” Bering clears his throat to correct himself. “ _Cook_ found out I didn’t know what a teddy bear was. He bought it for me,” he explains, and Abel’s heart skips a beat as he remembers his earlier conversation with the younger Cain.

“That was… many years ago, now,” Bering says, sounding like he is as as far away in space as his thoughts are in time. “Oddly enough, Scoobie is one of the few things that doesn’t reset when everything else does.”

“Who is Sacha?”

“That’s me, that’s... us,” Bering replies. “That’s our name.”

Abel buries his nose in the bear’s fur, remembering the other night. “He smells like you,” he repeats, and suddenly gets a mental image of _his_ Cain holding the bear. “Wait. So does that mean that _you--”_

“Oh, no. No no no, uh-uh,” Bering laughs a protest, putting his hands up defensively in front of him.

“Oh, _come on!”_ Abel needles. “You have to tell me!”

“No! It would be, uh… irresponsible-of-me-to-tell-you-anything-else-about-you-and-Cain’s-future,” Bering says all at once, decidedly not looking Abel in the eyes. “I mean, who -- who knows what the consequences could be?” he stammers, and crosses his arms. Abel gets a good look at his grumpy scowl in profile, and snickers. Cain is apparently the most recognizable when he’s pouting and/or hiding something.

“You _are_ him, aren’t you?” Abel teases. Bering just glances at him sideways, shy and kind of cute if Abel is being honest. “It’s just hard to believe,” he sighs. “I mean, there are similarities, sure, but… you’re so different.”

“Well,” Bering answers, finally looking at him straight on. “There is one important thing we have in common. We both love you back,” he says, putting his hand on top of Abel’s on the bear’s head.

And in that moment, time seems to stand still.

“Even if he doesn’t realize it yet,” Bering shrugs.

A lump of raw emotion starts to swell in Abel’s throat. He sits there speechless, as the older Cain runs frustrated fingers through his graying hair.

“I just wish I could save him from all the mistakes he’s gonna make with you. The ones he’s already made with you,” he says helplessly. “Just… promise me that you’ll be patient with him,” he pleads. “With me.”

Abel tries to nod in answer, but  he finds it hard to move. He finally musters up enough strength to breathe, “I promise.”

Bering leans forward and pulls Abel in to him, Abel’s legs across his lap and his arms around the older man’s neck. “I love you so much,” Abel says as their mouths crash together. And Abel realizes he has no idea how long it would be, before he’ll get to say it to his Cain, though he knows the older Cain knows.

“I know, princess,” Bering says, in-between kisses on the part of Abel’s neck that makes his skin tingle, the part that only Cain would know was there. “I know…”

 

They just hold each other for a few moments, as Abel tries to calm himself, tries to make real sense out of the overload of information. “Does this mean, we can’t see each other anymore?” he asks finally, head resting on Bering’s warm shoulder, Scoobie tucked under his arm. Bering hesitates just a little too long, clearly thinking about it now that Abel has brought it up. “Please, just tell me this won’t be the last time I get to see you,” Abel implores.

“It won’t be,” Bering whispers, shaking his head as he strokes Abel’s arm. “It won’t. But we have to be careful, baby.”

“And then when the loop resets? I won’t remember any of this.”

“No,” Bering answers sadly. “You won’t.”

“And you won’t remind me?” Abel mopes.

Bering shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry, but I have no idea how this could affect your future, Abel. And mine. It really is best if you don’t find out next time.”

Abel considers that, wonders how many Abels before him fell into bed with Bering and never realized it was Cain. There’s something incredibly unsettling about the prospect of all those other iterations, parts of his life that he doesn’t remember, won’t ever remember when all this is through, as if somehow his very existence is wiped out and reconstructed atom by atom when the sequence resets.

“No. I’m not gonna let that happen,” Abel declares, his eyes filling up with tears. “Something is different this time. I recognized you, that has to _mean_ something. Maybe--”

The words die in Abels throat when he sees the look on Bering’s face, defeated and hopeless. And Abel knows that, more than saving this version of himself from being erased, he has to save this version of Cain from his perpetual hell.

 _“No,”_ he repeats, looking into Bering’s eyes, determined. “I’m going to be the Abel that figures this out. I’m different than the others. I have to be the one that makes it out.”

Bering just sighs quietly, and holds Abel a little tighter. “I hope you’re right, baby,” he says, and Abel nuzzles his cheek, bracing both of them against the mournful prospect of being parted. “I really hope you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaahhhh ok obviously huuuge credit goes to tomo for her story [Full Circle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/878860/chapters/1690110) which inspired this. I couldn't say that before now because whoa spoilers!
> 
> And, the code that Abel punches in to the door in chapter 3 spells Scoobie. Heeeee. It's a special code that allows Abel into the room but only if Bering is already inside.


	6. Chapter 6

_I want you more than anything in the whole world._

_You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you..._

_This is where I belong._

Abel makes it to the lift, and halfway down to level three before he breaks down. He slams his fist into the button, feeling the compartment jerk to a stop before he slides down the wall in tears, sobbing as he remembers all of Bering’s words. He can’t even begin to process that it had really been Cain that actually said all those things, that had touched him in those most intimate ways, that had made him feel things he didn’t even know were possible.

He hugs his knees to his chest, cataloging every look Bering had ever given him, every scar on his body that Cain doesn’t have yet, every way in which they’re different and every way in which they’re exactly the same.

He’s barely reduced his weeping into a sniffle, when the lift announces that it’s been overridden, and starts to move. Abel’s heart leaps in his chest, and he quickly stumbles to his feet, wiping his eyes dry as best he can, just as the lift arrives on level three.

The doors open and Cain slowly walks inside, a small tracking device in his hand. He doesn’t see Abel at first, looking down at it with a frustrated grimace, before he turns and sees his Navigator glued against the wall.

“Cain,” he croaks, trembling.

The Fighter takes a step toward him, close enough that Abel can read the device when he holds it out.

“Only tells me what level you’re on…” Cain says dejectedly. “It got confused when you didn’t get off the lift.”

Abel just looks at him, one word away from bursting into tears again. With a sullen glare, Cain strides over to him, too fast for how shaken Abel is, looking him over, probably for any visible signs of abuse.

“Abel, listen to me,” he hisses. “You’re going to tell me who did this. You’re going to tell me his name--”

Abel shakes his head. “Cain--”

“You’re going to tell me where to find him--”

“No.”

_“Abel--”_

_“No!”_ Abel barks at him, fighting to keep his voice from cracking as he weaves through the lies he spun earlier. “I fixed it. I told you I would.”

“You’re hiding in the lift crying!” Cain argues. “That’s not fixed!”

“But... I -- I’m not crying because I’m hurt. Okay?” Abel pleads. “I’m crying because I’m just… overwhelmed.” And just admitting it makes him start crying again. “Things are better now. I fixed it. Please believe me, you have to believe me,” he sobs, grabbing onto the front of Cain’s shirt in desperation. Crying too much to stand up anymore, Abel slides down the wall, and Cain follows, kneeling over him, concern making his black eyes big and open and round.

“Abel,” he says finally. “I don’t know what to do.”

Abel knows he just wants to help, just wants to feel useful, just needs to do something because he loves Abel and he doesn’t know it yet, so he has to say it in actions rather than words. “Will you… please…” Abel stammers through his tears, needing something from him and still afraid that Cain will say no. “Will you please just… take care of me? For a little while. Until I calm down?”

Cain looks down at the ground and then back at Abel, nothing mocking or burning in his reaction at all, just somber and warm and heartbroken. “Um, I think I’m gonna need... slightly more specific orders than that, babe.”

“Um…?” Abel answers, swallowing back another sob. “Just… help me get to bed, and… hold me? And just… be nice to me? Just, be _nice_ to me,” he pleads.

“Okay,” Cain whispers, defensive as if Abel were accusing him of something. He presses his lips together and looks over Abel’s pathetic state. “Do you want me to carry you?”

Abel gasps at the offer, and presses his own lips together to keep from crying more as he nods shakily.

Despite that two more warm, fat tears roll down his face, as Cain crawls over, leaning down to pick him up. “Okay, put your arm around me…” he says gently, and lifts up once Abel complies, groaning a little as he stands with Abel in his arms. “You got the button?” he asks, just the hint of a smile on his face. Abel reaches out with his free hand and pushes the button in question, opening the elevator doors.

“How did you override the lift?” Abel asks, voice weak from crying, muffled as he buries his face in Cain’s chest.

“Dunno,” Cain answers as he carries him down the corridor. “It told me it was locked down... I gave it a voice command to override and it just did it. I didn’t know I had access to do that kind of thing.”

“Hmm…” Abel grunts, realizing that he and Cain must have the same security access as their older counterparts. He stores that information away in his mind for later.

“Button,” Cain reminds, and Abel reaches out to open the door to their room. Cain carries him over the threshold and then gently sets him down on his feet. Kisses him soft on the lips as he undoes Abel’s jacket, pulling it off of him and tossing it to the side. Then Cain reaches for his zipper.

Abel protests. “Cain, I don’t really feel like--”

“You gonna go to bed in your clothes?” Cain reprimands, and goes back to his task. A few seconds later, he whispers, “I wasn’t gonna try anything.”

“Okay. Sorry,” Abel whispers back, blushing furiously.

“Sit,” Cain commands, reaching out his hands to help Abel down to the mattress. He kneels in front of Abel again and grabs onto a boot, allowing Abel to pull his foot out of it, and then the other. Then Cain reaches into one of the boots, and fumbles around for something.

“What is it?” Abel asks, still sniffling.

Cain looks at him as he pulls out a small metal object, no bigger than one of Earth’s roly-poly bugs. And apparently just as fragile, as Cain drops it onto the floor and crushes it under the heel of his boot. It was the tracking device, Abel realizes with wide eyes. This must be Cain’s way of apologizing, he thinks as he gives the Fighter a worried look.

“Off you go, then,” Cain says, shooing him towards the head of the bed with his hand. Abel smiles a little as he crabwalks backward and pulls the covers over himself, as Cain sits beside him and undresses, pulling his own boots off slow and heavy, like he's already asleep.

“What now?” he asks once he's joined Abel under the covers, slipped his arms around Abel's waist and pulled him close.

“Um… kiss me on the forehead?” Abel asks nervously.

Cain presses soft lips against his brow, lingering for a moment before pulling away. “Okay, then what?”

“Um… say something nice about me?”

“Something _nice_ about you? Like what?”

“Just… whatever comes to mind," Abel tries. "Just… a positive observation of some sort," he says, giggling a little.

“Okay?" Cain sighs, thinking hard as he frowns pensively at Abel. "Uhh… you know what I like about you?” he says finally.

“What?” Abel replies, shy but expectant.

"Your work ethic," he says, trying not to smile and failing.

Abel bursts into snickering. “What?!”

“No, _really!"_ Cain insists, to more giggling. "Most of you Earthlings are all spoiled and lazy… but this project you’ve been doing for Cook? -- I mean, some of the time you said you were in the lab, you weren’t… but… most of the time you were," he says a bit sternly. "You’ve been working really hard." He smiles gently at Abel, pulling them closer together. "And just how… focused, and… _good_ at it you are when we’re working on the engine… it’s kind of hot," he admits.

Abel just snickers some more, grinning from ear to ear, quieting himself when he sees Cain's expression turn serious.

“And you have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen," he whispers.

“Really?” Abel smiles even more.

“Yeah. I’ve kind of missed it," Cain confesses.

_...seeing you smile, is one of my favorite things in the whole… universe._

Abel buries his face in Cain's chest, trying to hide as he starts to cry again. “Oh, come on now…” Cain complains gently, sighing and shifting so he can rub Abel's back.

“I’m sorry," Abel whimpers, apologizing for too many things, for crying, for not being faithful, for not seeing how much Cain loved him, for making him feel lonely in two different versions of his own life.

"Can't you even give me, like, the tiniest, tiniest hint as to what this is all about?” Cain implores, and Abel shakes his head, stiff against his chest.

_“Please?”_

Abel doesn't answer straight away, just cuddles up closer, tangling their legs together as he tries to relax into the sleepy comfort of Cain's warmth. He smiles and grunts as he finally thinks of a reply...

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

  



End file.
